Never Forget
by IMISPLACEDMYPENNAME
Summary: After three years of repressing memories, a figure from Sarah's past returns and forces her to recall them. Marble Hornets fic, Tim/Sarah, oneshot. Reviews and crits always appreciated!


A/N: The worst kind of plot bunny is what I call the "hyperallergenic plot bunny" – it will make your brain itch and itch and itch until you let it out of its cage to wreak havoc. This was one of those bunnies. It incorporates theories and elements I don't necessarily think are true in-canon, but they worked well for this fic, so there you go. Enjoy?

(I apologize to the creators of Marble Hornets for this. Though, considering some of the fics and fanart that are floating around out there, this is probably one of the LEAST stupid things fans have made.)

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><p>Sarah had moved on with her life.<p>

_What was there to move on from?_ She wondered. She couldn't remember much about the events of three years ago. Something had caused her to lose her memory, but that was alright, she insisted to herself; _you don't want to remember anyway_. Even so, she found that recently, her forgotten past invaded her thoughts more often than she would like, providing irking bits of disconnected memories that only served to upset her further.

Perhaps part of her wanted to remember. But, she knew that could never happen. Never.

Something had happened during the shooting of that student film. What was it called? What was it about? Something about martial arts? No. Marble something, she thought. She wasn't even sure of that. It could have been Mackerel something, for all she knew or told herself she cared. She barely remembered those involved in the production. She could neither recall the name of the director, nor of his friend; she couldn't even remember what they looked like. The other actors, what were their names?

The only name she could remember anymore was Tim. _Or was it Tom? No, it was Tim._ She had only remembered him recently, and his face was nothing but a blur in her memory, but it was something.

She vaguely remembered becoming friendly with him, and having a stupid, girlish crush on him. It wasn't a big deal, she told herself; she'd since made new friends and developed other stupid, girlish crushes. Still, though, she almost wanted to remember him. _Why? _She tried to recall something about Tim. When exactly had they met? Did they know each other before the film? What did he look like?

She wasn't sure why let herself care so much. She really didn't want to care. Soon after she started working with the director on that film, strange things began happening and she had started forgetting things. At first it was little things like where she'd put the book she was reading, or if she'd checked the mail. But it soon became other, more important things, such as what her friends' names were, what her own name was, and what street she lived on. Hours of her life disappeared after being around the director. She had stopped working with them, but she continued to forget things.

Sarah had tried to fight the memory loss at first, then for a reason that was also forgotten, welcomed it. At some point she had gotten rid of everything that reminded her of the film and her friends. Photographs, mementos, her script – anything that reminded her of what happened was donated, trashed, or burned. She barely remembered tossing the script, books, pictures, and other papers into a large fire. She had stopped speaking to everyone involved with the movie. She had built a wall between her and whatever had happened. It was imperative.

Even those hazy details had taken years to resurface. A bit of information here, a flash of an event there, fragments of memory that slipped past the wall and tempted her curiosity to probe further. The slippage was happening more often lately, but she wished it would stop. The memories were dangerous.

_That's stupid, remembering things can't be dangerous. They're just memories. _But somehow, it _was_ dangerous, her instinct told her. So dangerous that she had done everything to make sure the memories stayed gone.

Despite the danger, though, she sometimes let herself wonder what had happened to them; Tim and the director and his friends. Every time she wondered, she felt like she was doing something forbidden. Remembering was forbidden.

Her head ached suddenly. _Those memories are forbidden. Remember that._

Sarah set down her hairbrush and pulled her hair back into a braid. It was late, too late to be preoccupied with that nonsense. It was best that she forgot.

_Yes_, she reminded herself. It would be much better to forget. Safer. _So stop thinking about it._

She had to work tomorrow, and it was already midnight. Yet another day at the local burger restaurant, serving angry people complaining about how the ketchup wasn't right in the middle of the bun. She poked her stomach idly. _I'm eating too many of those burgers. At least they're free. Free food is good food. _She also had to make another student loan payment in a few days, and she was short. It was either her loans or her landlord, and the landlord came first. She would have to borrow money from her mother again, she thought miserably.

She brushed her teeth and quickly scrubbed her face before shutting the light off. She made sure the door to her apartment was locked, and her windows shut and locked, before shutting off the bedroom light and climbing into bed. The streetlights shone in through the blinds, but that was comforting. She could at least see somewhat.

The darkness frightened her now, and she didn't want to remember why.

She shut her eyes and began to doze off. Her thoughts drifted into the past, back to the movie, back to her old friends, back to those forbidden things, before she finally succumbed to sleep.

* * *

><p>A noise.<p>

Sarah awoke with a start. Something wasn't right. She had heard something moving; even through the shroud of sleep, she was sure she had heard it. She checked her clock; it was three in the morning. She sat up and glanced around her room. Nothing seemed out of place in the dim light of the streetlamps.

Cautiously, she climbed out of bed and reached up to the pull cord to turn on her light, and someone jumped out of the shadows. She was quickly shoved back down onto the bed. She screamed and prayed her neighbors would hear. Whoever it was climbed on top of her and pushed his hand down on her mouth, as hard as he could. When she continued wailing, he pinched her nose shut. He was wearing some kind of mask – a plastic one, colored black around the eyes and on the lips.

_No, I locked all the doors! This can't be happening! _

"Shh!" he hissed. Sarah tried to push him off of her, but he was too strong. She couldn't breathe with her mouth and nose clamped shut, and her breath was running out. After a few more seconds of futile struggle, she stopped and fell silent in the hopes he'd let her breathe. He cautiously removed his hand from her nose. She took a deep, desperate breath. After a few more seconds he released her mouth, allowing her to speak. "What are you doing here? Who are you?" she hissed at the intruder.

"Help me," he said quietly.

"What?" Sarah snapped. The masked intruder pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to her. He backed away and allowed her to sit up. From the way it felt, she figured it was a photograph. She glanced at the picture, then frowned. "Help you with what? Am I supposed to see this in the dark? Let me turn on the light."

He shook his head and gestured silently to the window. She looked up at him, and he stared back stubbornly. He gestured again, more insistently this time. She stood, and quickly reached for the light cord. He grabbed her wrist and pulled it down, then pointed at the window again. She didn't want to turn her back to him, but she figured cooperating was the best thing to do for now. She sighed and walked past him, then pulled the blinds back a bit to look at the picture. The streetlights shone on it, and she peered at it. It was of a man in glasses, smiling goofily at the camera. His face was familiar, but she couldn't place it. She peered closer at it. "Who is this?" He approached her from behind, but didn't answer. "I don't recognize him, I'm sorry. Now get out of my apa—" she cried out as he turned her around to face him. A tremor shook his body, and he coughed violently, but he held on. She pulled out of his grasp. "I don't know who that is! Leave me alone! Get out!"

"Alex," he hissed.

"Alex?" _Who is Alex? _Sarah looked at the picture again. _Alex._ Suddenly, she remembered. _The director. Alex. _She felt like part of the barrier that she had so fervently protected was broken. _The director was Alex. His friend was Jay. _Another question occurred to her. _How does this person know Alex? _"I didn't even recognize him. Why are you showing me this?"

"Where is he?" the masked man asked. He coughed again.

She frowned. "I don't know where he is. I haven't spoken to him in a long time. I didn't even remember him until you told me his name." He stared at her expectantly for a few seconds longer. She growled at him. "Leave me alone, I don't know where he is!"

"I must know," he insisted.

"I can't tell you. I'm sorry." Sarah wasn't sure she'd tell him even if she could. "Is that all you're here for? You're looking for him? You couldn't do that in the morning?" The masked man shook his head; she wondered which question he was answering. She wished she could see his eyes. "I'm sorry. I honestly don't know where he is. Now leave me alone."

He took the picture back from her, but made no move to leave. She sighed after a few silent seconds. "Who are you? How do you know Alex? How do you know that I knew Alex?" She tried to get a good look at his other features. "Are you Jay?" She couldn't see his eyes, but his jacket was oddly familiar. No, it wasn't Jay. That tan jacket. His voice. Even the way he stood there staring at her, the way he held himself.

Another part of her precious wall, broken.

"Tim?" she asked quietly. "Tim, is that you? What are you doing?" He didn't answer her. She stared at him in disbelief. _This can't be Tim. It's just a guy with the same jacket. Tim wasn't crazy, was he?_ She approached him cautiously and tried to see his eyes again. He angled his head downward, just enough that they were shadowed over. Looking at him closer, she realized his hair was familiar, too. She frowned. "You _are _Tim, aren't you? What's wrong with you? Why did you break into my house to ask me where Alex is? That's stupid, you could have waited and asked me tomorrow! And why are you in that damned mask? Take it off!"

He shook his head. Sarah sighed. "Take it off. This is stupid. I'm not talking to you any more until you take it off." She crossed her arms and stared at him. He stared back. She narrowed her eyes and reached out to remove it. His hands shot up and grabbed her wrists in a painful, vicelike grip. She struggled to pull free, but his grip tightened.

"No," he said gruffly, and twisted her hands.

"Let me go!" she snapped. "Ow!" He jumped, and his grip loosened slightly. "Fine, leave it on. I know who you are, anyway. You're not fooling me. Now let go!" He finally released her wrists. She shrunk away, shivering, and rubbed them. "Why are you in that thing? And why couldn't you just stop by tomorrow? Answer me! This makes no sense."

"I had to."

"What do you mean?" she asked. He stared at her for a moment, and his previously tense, agitated stance became relaxed. "What do you mean?" she repeated. She tried to read him. It was near impossible to tell with the mask on, but she could have sworn he seemed sad.

_That's ridiculous, you can't tell what he's thinking behind that mask._

She found herself wondering about him. She had liked him, back when he was a normal person instead of this masked creep. Why had she liked him? What kind of person was he? Was he friendly, aloof, shy, outgoing? What kind of food did he like? Did he play sports? What kind of job did he have? She had no idea anymore. Maybe he'd had a love of partying. Maybe he was an introvert. Maybe he spent his weekends at the bar or at the gym or at home playing video games. Whatever he was like, he'd probably thought breaking into houses to ask for peoples' whereabouts after so many years was asinine. He had been normal, and she had liked him back then, but everything that had made him likeable back then was gone or hidden.

_But why?_

Suddenly, he lifted his hand and touched her cheek gently. She gasped in surprise, thenshivered and backed away, but he followed. His hidden eyes bored into hers. His hand was freezing cold, so cold that it may as well have been the hand of a corpse. Another tremor rocked him, and he coughed loudly. Her head throbbed, and her previously repressed memories of her feelings and desires suddenly flooded back with his touch. She felt herself flush. "I don't want to remember," she whispered, more to herself than to Tim.

But at the same time, she did.

He drew closer, until his masked face was only a few inches from hers. His eyes were still hidden, but she could see them glinting in the dim light, imploring her to recall. She was still frightened and wanted to pull away, but she didn't move; his touch was slowly helping her to remember those things she had long since forgotten. Alex – Alex _Kralie, _she couldn't believe she knew that– was more than a half-remembered specter. She could remember his address, what kind of camera he'd had, his mannerisms, his likes and dislikes. She remembered how he had started acting so strange; talking to the air, yelling at the trees, whispering to himself, and never shutting off his camera. Always recording everything they did, everything they said. Jay's face and voice was no longer strange to her. Brian and Seth existed once more. She remembered the film. _Marble Hornets. It was called Marble Hornets._ It had been some ridiculous drama, but hearing the name in her head terrified her. _Why?_ "I'm starting to remember things," she whispered to him. The touch had only lasted a few seconds, but it had brought back months worth of memories. Tim's face – the face behind this mask – suddenly flashed through her mind. "I remember what you look like now, behind the mask."

He nodded, as if with approval.

She remembered riding to an afternoon shoot with him. It had been a mess; there was a fight between Alex and Seth over the camera_, _and she could see her and Tim watching the fight, talking to each other while Alex and Seth argued_. _What was the fight over? Her and Tim had left together soon after that. _There was another fight. _We_ fought over something. What was it about? _She struggled to remember.

She had nearly recalled, when another memory, a more frightening memory, the one she was sure she had repressed all the others in an attempt to destroy, tried to force its way into her mind. She shivered and pushed his hand away. "No. Stop it. I don't want to remember anymore."

"You must," he said.

"I can't. I _mustn't_. No."

"I need your help."

"No, I said!" Sarah snapped.

"I remembered and lived."

"I don't care. I don't want to remember."

"Do you remember me?" he asked.

She blinked a few times. "Yes, I said I did. You're Tim. I know that now. I don't know what happened to you, but you're definitely Tim." He lowered his head as she spoke. Before she could stop herself, she added, "I liked you, you know."

He nodded. She frowned. _Why did I say that? That was a stupid thing to say. _"I _don't_ like that you broke into my house. I don't like that at all." He nodded again. He rubbed her cheek tenderly; she shook him off again. "Stop. Why are you here, after three years? Why can't you just tell me what's going on?"

"It'll mean nothing without your memory."

"Well maybe if you tell me—"

"You need to remember yourself," he interrupted. Before she could react, he took Sarah's shoulder and pulled her to him. She glanced frantically around her room for a nearby heavy object to hit him with, but found nothing within reach. She suddenly wished she'd taken her friends up on that invitation to an inexpensive self-defense class a few weeks ago.

Sarah felt him wrap his arms around her, and she shuddered. There was something desperate about the gesture. Desperate and harmless, and yet it still made her feel unclean. She shuddered again and ran his icy fingers through her hair. She felt another flood of memories try to return to her, but she fought them off. _I mustn't remember. I can't. _She tensed. She waited anxiously, expecting him to throw her to the ground and beat her, knock her out and rob her, or violate her, or murder her._ He is crazy. He's absolutely insane, and I'm going to die tonight._

She struggled with panic and tried for a few seconds to think of an escape plan. She couldn't focus; the rush of memories had scrambled her thoughts. Her wrists still hurt where he had squeezed them – her chances of getting away were slim, she realized, if he wanted to kill her. She shut her eyes, a couple of frightened tears running down her cheeks, and waited. A few more seconds passed, but he didn't move. Thirty seconds. A minute. Nothing happened. _I wish you would let go. _He clung to her tighter, and she heard him panting behind the mask. She cringed. "What are you doing?" she asked softly. "Let me go already, you creep."

He released her somewhat reluctantly and stepped away, staring at her inquiringly, contemplating. He hesitantly reached up and touched the mask, then glanced nervously around the room. Then, to her surprise, he slowly and reluctantly pulled it off. Finally, she could see his eyes. It was Tim, and his face looked the same, though a bit older, than it did in her newly found memories. His eyes – eyes she now remembered as being expressive and lively – were disturbingly cold and blank. Memories pushed insistently against her mental blockade. She stubbornly pushed them back.

"Do you remember now?" he asked. He looked around again.

"I already told you, I know who you are," Sarah snapped impatiently. She looked at the wall behind him. "Or do you mean Alex? Is that what all this is about? Alex? Hugging me isn't going to do any good, I haven't spoken to him in three years, and I don't _want_ to remember anything else." She frowned when he sighed heavily and abruptly put the mask back gazed at him. Debate raged in her head as they watched one another. _I could run. I could try to run, anyway, instead of making it easy for him. _She suddenly had the feeling he'd let her go if she tried to. She took a deep breath. "You liked me, too, didn't you? Is that what this is about?"

He didn't respond.

She suddenly grew angry. "Look," she snapped. "This is stupid. If you want to talk to me, come back tomorrow during the day, without the mask. I need to work tomorrow." She glanced at the clock. "Excuse me. Later on today. Please get out of here." She backed up to her bed and pointed in the general direction of the front door. "Go. I need to go back to sleep."

"You need to remember," he insisted.

"I don't want to remember! Stop it and go!"

"You _must _remember!" he insisted again.

"What do you _want _from me?" Sarah demanded, her whole body shaking. She sat down before she could fall. "Do you _realize _how ridiculous and creepy you're being?I haven't even seen you in three years, and you broke into my house demanding to know where _another_ guy I haven't seen in three years is right now, and demanding that I remember things that could _kill_ me!" She swallowed heavily. She had never admitted that fear out loud. "How did you know where to find me? Are you stalking me? _Why _do you need to know where Alex is? Did you break into my house just to hug me to death? What's _wrong _with you?"

Tim shook his head. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the picture again.

Sarah pounded her fists on the mattress. "_Stop _it!" she shrieked. "I told you I don't know where he is! I didn't want to remember him at all! Just get out!" she snapped. "Get out! Yes, I wanted to forget, can't you accept that? Stop trying to make me remember, I don't _want_ to remember, I…I _know_ I'll die if I remember! I don't…" she trailed off and battled with tears. "I don't want to remember. I don't want to remember Alex. I don't want to remember Jay. I don't want to remember Brian or Seth, I don't want to remember Marble Hornets, and I definitely don't want to remember a lunatic like you! I can't believe I ever liked you! You're insane!" She buried her face in her hands so she wouldn't have to look at him. "Just go away and leave me alone! _Get! Out!_"

As soon as the words had left her mouth, she began feeling bad for them. _Don't. He's the crazy one. Not you. _She waited for a few minutes, listening to the silence, guilt slowly rooting itself in her mind. She didn't hear him breathing anymore, but she hadn't heard him leave, either. Slowly and with trepidation, she picked up her head to see if he was there.

He was gone.

_Where, though? I should have heard him leave. _"Tim?" she said quietly. She stood and reached up to the light cord, then hesitated. No rough hands stopped her this time. She turned the light on. "Tim! Are you here?" She peered under the bed, then went into the next room, turning on lights as she went. She looked in the bathroom, checked the bathtub, and then checked the kitchen. She even looked in the cabinets and closets. The windows and the door were still closed, still locked and deadbolted. "How…"

_Maybe he was a ghost. Worse, maybe I was seeing things._ She rubbed her arms, chilled by the night's events, and went back into her bedroom. _Maybe I _am_ the lunatic here. _She left the lights on, though, in case he came back.

Suddenly, something sitting on her dresser caught her eye. picked it up and examined it; it was a white mask, like the one Tim had been wearing, but crudely decorated to resemble a skull. She tossed it on the dresser with disgust. _Why did he put this thing here? _Next to it, there was a picture. The picture of had he left it? She picked it up and looked at it again. _Maybe I should try to locate him, to warn him about…_

Her breath caught. It was a completely different picture, charred around the edges and creased from being crumpled at some point in the past.

As she stared at it, her mental wall slowly crumbled, and the memories became impossible to fight back. Both happy and painful memories of what she'd had before Marble Hornets, the unholy force that had torn it apart, what she'd forced herself to forget, and what she'd dismissed as mere insanity, raged in her mind. She absently noted the shifting shadows and the flickering of the overhead light, and set the picture of the smiling couple back on the dresser, upside down, and noticed an address and a note on the back of the photo through tear-filled eyes. _Return to me, and never forget again._


End file.
